


Symbiosis

by Outside_Context_Problem



Series: The Troll War [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A Scientific Examination Of Reproduction (Bow-chika-wow-wow), Biological Speculations, Caliginous Infidelity, Cross-Species Relationships, Martyrdom, Multi, Revolutions: The Home Kit (For fun and profit), The secret cabal ruling everything that is much sillier than the Illuminati
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outside_Context_Problem/pseuds/Outside_Context_Problem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The course of evolution of any species can change very rapidly when any gifted individual can alter their entire species' genome.</p><p>(Occurs between the main sequence and prologue/epilogue of Progression - mostly)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Convergent evolution occurs when similar selective pressures push species of different origins into developing similar traits or anatomy specialized towards survival in the same environment.
> 
> It should not be expected that all intelligent species will share much more than some form of reasoning due to convergent evolution, or that all tool-using species will share anything more than agile grasping appendages.
> 
> It sure as hell should not be expected that convergent evolution make a live-birth highly social mammal and larval-stage xeno-hominid of unknown class look identical except for color and horns, right down to secondary sexual characteristics.
> 
> That shit's downright freaky.

**15,938th Sweep of the Rule of Her Imperial Condescension, 7th Perigee, 4th Night** *

You Have Made A Terrible Mistake.

It seemed at the time to be the entirely correct response. You did not know the character of these humans, and you were well aware that one individual could not represent a whole species. Just because the John human was intelligent enough to understand the Alternian mind did not mean other members of his species would be able to resist the self-destructive urges of autonomy and resistance that every species the Empire had conquered before had demonstrated.

And your moirail was not defecting. You allow yourself to think that was your guiding principle. Afterwards you began to wonder why in the name of the mother grub you were following Vriska Serket's un-meddled decisions.

Especially once you got to Verdante. Vriska had somehow come away with the seatroll elite thinking her a master of the human and rebel mind, and got an assignment to a miserable overgrown arboreal world conquered from a brachiating species that now numbered in the thousands if not hundreds, pushed to the edges of the habitable zones and left as sport for hunting bluebloods. Vriska was noticeably quiet as to why she was abandoning her Stellacrimator ambitions to hunt rebels as an Interrogouger attached to the Legislacerators on this planet, until you saw a T. Pyrope listed on their roster.

"Fiiiiiiiine, fussyfangs, yes, I want to see Terezi."

"And this is not because of what the John human said about her caliginous wavering? Or your own behavior towards him?"

"John Egbert," she muttered under her breath. You would swear she was correcting you. "I want to see the truth, Kanaya! You don't have to follow me, Fussyfangs."

You considered this. Maybe it was time you let Vriska solve her own problems.

No, you didn't think so. Even if Tavros was doing considerably better according to John. Vriska still should not be left alone with - well, with anyone, really.

And so you're here on Verdante, putting together the wounded and finishing the dead from yet another senseless bombing. Sixteen dead (three highbloods, thirteen rustbloods, and why are you only now noticing how you divide them? You never used to do that), thirty wounded, ten of whom you have to cull. You have seniority among the meditearers at least, and you can force them to save three they would have culled.

One of those is only alive so he can endure Vriska's touch, however. A yellow-blood pyro, and the one who lit the fuses. Promet Irrivm, ten sweeps, deserter from the Armamentalists. You can do little for him. You kept him alive without thinking. The one mercy you could afford was snapping the sym69l from his necklace and throwing it in the incinerator when you were alone.

Vriska is waiting when Terezi shows up, leaning against the wall in an overly casual slump where one of the guards should be standing straight and alert.

In the most convincing evidence for infidelity yet, Terezi doesn't even smell that it's Vriska until your moirail is tucked within the curve of her dragon-head cane.

"Your hate isn't what it used to be," Vriska says in something between a whisper and a growl, gripping Terezi's wrist tightly. The strength difference in their bloodcastes is evident from Vriska's absolute lack of strain.

Terezi requires some time to retort. She struggles a little against Vriska's grasp, but it seems like a token effort. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Something snaps in Vriska's mind. You can see it in the flashing of her pupils.

She drops Terezi's hand and spins around. "Well, I know when I'm not needed. It's been lovely and all but I've found someone so much more _worthy_ of my hate. Best of luck." She whirls around. "Let's get going, Fussyfangs."

You sigh and let your face sink into your palm. "Vriska, you can't just _leave_ after you put so much work into convincing our superiors to post us here."

"Sure I can! I just have to pull strands on my web, Kanaya." Her grin is wide. "You know I can do that."

"Without even doing the job you came here to do?" You know you're lecturing. Sometimes she inspires things blacker than pity in you. You banished any flushed feelings for her long ago. Really. You did!

"Uggggggggh. Fine. One stupid interrogation. That guy, right?"

You follow her to where Promet Irrivm is chained to his healslab and drugged so deep he isn't even experiencing dayterrors. "Vriska, he is unconscious. Forcefully so, and for good reasons."

"Details!" Vriska stands next to the slab and puts her fingers to her temples.

The yellowblood jerks upward, eyes wide open.

"Who are you working for?"

"Free Alternia!" he shouts, the voice ripped from his chest. He twitches, almost a spasm.

"Who do you report to?"

"Karkat Vantas!" His teeth are gritted now, but Vriska forces the words through them.

"How?"

"He comes to me. HE IS HERE!" Yellow blood is beginning to leak from his eyes.

"That's enough, Vriska." You take her hand, and she lets you pull her arm down. "I'm sure Terezi has enough to go on…"

"She better! I've got a command to get back and a human to hunt down. I wonder if he's as deliciously _infuriating_ in his competence when he's commanding a ship." Vriska sometimes says things out loud without meaning to. You feel fairly certain she is trying to grind emotional glass in Terezi's wounds right now, however.

You are also fairly certain she's succeeding. Vriska was always far more dependent on Terezi's hate than the other way around. She's thrown fits before, declared she cared nothing for Terezi, tried caliginous flings. But there was always that need lurking under her words, obvious to you - and you suspect, to Terezi.

It's gone now. You reconsider your assessment. Was half a perigee with a human really enough to sway Vriska's black affections for good?

Terezi is locked still while Vriska saunters out of the room. Back to the stars. "Coming, Kanaya?"

You think. "I can't, Vriska. I have work to do here."

She doesn't even scowl, which is so rare on Vriska when denied her plans as to be unique. She just places her hands gently on your shoulders. "Just stay in touch, Fussyfangs. And take _my_ advice for a change. Pyrope and the old guard can't change. They're just resting on their past glories and the "majesty of blood." Hah! The humans and the angry mutant - they're going to win. Don't get dragged down with the losing side, okay?"

"Vriska, your loyalties do not seem particularly faithful-"

She dismisses this with a wave of the hand and an easy grin. "They're where the challenge is, Kanaya! Fighting the Empire would be dull and easy - fighting the _best_ is how I prove I'm better."

"I don't think I'll ever truly understand you, Vriska." You realize this is not the most supportive thing you could say to your moirail, but sometimes tactless truth slips from your mouth without thinking.

She embraces you, and tilts her head against yours lightly. "I know, Fussyfangs. But it's your trying that counts."

With a parting wink, an intentional and absolute ignorance of Terezi, and a casual whistle, Vriska leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *6871 hours after first Terran-Alternian hostilities.
> 
> As a side note, this is the first second-person limited-omniscient story I've written with a female lead. I will endeavor to make it not suck.


	2. Environmental Pressures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Predation and the defensive tactics of prey species are inherently linked.
> 
> Overpredation that pushes prey populations below reproductive viability leads to a forced change in the diet of the predatory species, which can drastically shift the course of its natural selection or kill off the predator population entirely.
> 
> Similarly, prey species that are too adept at surviving and reproducing may find themselves without effective predators, and grow until they threaten their own food sources and cause mass starvation.
> 
> This pattern replicates all the way down to autotrophs, and all the way up to apex predators.
> 
> At the macro level, it includes both Humans and Trolls.

**15,938th Sweep of the Rule of Her Imperial Condescension, 7th Perigee, 28th Night***  
"You have been eating regularly."

"And? It's only supposed to be a problem if I'm trying to starve myself before the Cruelest Bar gets to have its fun with me, isn't it?"

"Yes. That is why I am concerned. The absence of a concern is concerning me, or rather, I am bothered by your lack of concern-"

"You're rambling, Meditearer."

"You aren't resisting."

Promet Irrivm smiles, a simple disarming grin, and shrugs as best he can in his massive shackles and chains. "Would there be a point?"

"It would be a sign of rebellion."

"I've done that, med. You might remember the bomb."

You frown. This isn't going at all as you'd hoped.

You had some idea that this abnormality would be important and that you could investigate it, discovering a weakness of the rebellion. (not Free Alternia, not the Suffering Brigades, not The Mutant's Army. None of the names that have been banned on penalty of culling ever cross your mind, in order to keep them from crossing your lips.) The reason you have been trying to do this instead of someone maybe more qualified is that you seem to be the only one who cares.

Things have been very confusing on Verdante.

Starting with the purpose of this rebellion. Verdante has no serious resources, a small population, no persons of importance, highblood-skewed demographics, and no strategic location.

All of your questions about the rebels should have been answered by Neophyte Pyrope (who seems doomed to never rise above her ancestor's rank). But Terezi has been the second confusing thing.

Once she processed Vriska's seemingly-serious rejection, she registered what Irrivm had said. And you think that was when your childhood friend had _really_ snapped.

She did nothing.

For almost a perigee Irrivm has been contained and under medical treatment. No interrogation, no torture, no execution. Terezi hasn't even been in to see him (well, smell him). And whenever you ask why you just get one of her enigmatic, gigantic smiles.

You are rather deep into questioning why you followed Vriska to this place and why you stayed. You were quite happy as the chief Meditearer on the _Supreme Victory Ascendant_ , even if it was a modest ship.

And you were keeping an eye on your moirail. You have no idea what she's doing now and that is so, so bad.

Things here are really quite insane.

 

You go up to the Legislacerator blocks, a sharp-cornered domain of tight-knotted order and justice, passing a couple of menials - sewage workers by their full-body suits - as you head for Terezi's office.

You are going to get some answers now, because things are far too confusing.

Terezi is at her desk in her workblock, eyes skimming another case file. "Meditearer Maryam. Can I help you?"

"I am uncertain, Neophyte. I hope you can provide me with answers but you have previously been reluctant to address any of them, or even to give me a reason why you are not answering, but I suppose it is unlikely. Nevertheless I am here to _get_ answers, Terezi. What are you doing and what are the rebels doing?"

The door explodes inward, kicked by a short sewage worker, and Terezi shark-grins. "You can have him explain it. Right, Karkles?"

The worker rips his mask off and your stubby-horned childhood friend turned rebel leader growls as he tosses it aside. "Yeah, fucking sure. Kanaya what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were fucking smart enough to stay out of this, even if you picked the wrong side."

You blink and answer Karkat, wondering why he and Terezi are both content to ignore each other. "I have a dedication to my duties, and to my species. That means being loyal to the Empire and the mother grub, and providing healing to those who need it."

Karkat scowls (a Karkat Class B Snarl, annoyed by a specific incident). "You don't say a damn thing about culling. You were always a _fair_ person Kanaya, not a cruel one. And you're still going to work for the huge witch that decided to chop off three-quarters of the lower-castes lifespans?"

"I am not a revolutionary, Karkat. I want our people to survive as a species, and the Empire still holds fast to Alternia. Our reproduction is in Her Imperial Condescension's hands."

Karkat makes an expression you don't recognize. You immediately file it as Karkat Class X Teeth-Bearing - pleasure? "About damn time. Kanaya, do you have any idea how advanced the human biotech is? Ten million rustbloods are going to live for hundreds of sweeps, and they send medication for hundreds of thousands more every goddamn night. Think that over when you're deciding your loyalties. Now, I gotta talk to my kismesis." He steps past you in the bulky suit, ungainly half-stumbling. "Yo, Rezi. Pretty fucking easy getting in here."

"Indeed it was! And you're alone, Karkles. Where is your delightful badass Strider? We have many Subjugglators frothing at the mouth to catch the traitor."

"They're always frothing, Rezi, that's just because they're lunatic clown retards whose gaping holes are either shoving out honks or guzzling down blood. Dave's busy with Aradia and the Condesce or something. I think he blew up Alternia." He shrugs. "I can see you're bouncing in your chair to spring your surprise on me. Irrivm's not here? He's already dead? Hit me."

She takes him literally, blurring out of her chair and snapping her dragon-headed cane into his head.

Or _at_ his head. What it hits is a tall black helmet that instantly appears from inside his sewage worker's suit to cover his entire head, horns and all, a featureless mask except for two long red glowing lines like permanently enraged eyes. Terezi drags her staff down, ripping away the uniform. Underneath, his small frame is encased in a jet armor, smooth and curved and utterly spikeless in a design that cannot be trollish in origin. "You've got half a legion of Archeradicators pouring out of the maintenance tunnels right now," Karkat says, answering his own question, the red lights pulsing while he talks.

Terezi jumps back, sliding out her cane's blade. Karkat lowers his helmet in response, letting it fold into his collar.

You cough politely and look away from their intense caliginous makeout.

"You're mine this time, mutant."

"Not happening, Neophyte. None of your boys are carrying around _Dersetech_." Karkat pulls back, teal and crimson blood dripping from his mouth. "I cheated again."

"You're not going to escape, if I have to throw this whole planet at you, Karkles."

"You can't pull it off, Rezi. They've heard my message. They've listened to the Word. And too many of your "dependable" agents are willing to _suffer_."

Terezi snarls. "Your heresy spreads disgustingly. Empathy is an ugly troll disease."

"I'll send Dave to you next time, Rezi. You need to learn about _irony_." Karkat's expression becomes truly terrifying: it bears a strong resemblance to a cheerful smile. "Empathy is so Jesus Sufferer-damned ugly that it's beautiful. Like the fucking sun."

They embrace again, a fighting, snarling passionate struggle. You find it easier to ignore them when you're thinking about what Karkat just said. The sun of empathy. Something is…

"Get out, Karkles." Terezi snarls and turns away.

Karkat's armored hand rests on her shoulder - dips down, and pulls a pendant from her shirt. He doesn't even look at the sym69l. "I hate you more for being a hypocrite, Terezi. But not as much as you hate yourself. If you want to keep fighting fucking pointlessly, go ahead and keep your blind imperial justice. Just get off this planet quickly. It's not going to be "loyal" for long."

"And it won't remain long after that," she snarls. Her hand rests on his gauntlet.

"No. But we're getting better at being ghosts. We'll be gone before another jewel in her crown is burned out by death from the skies."

She disentangles herself from him and looks away. "Go. Take Irrivm. And Maryam."

You blink. "I'm sorry?"

"Go with him, Kanaya. And… find out if there's a chance the human-lackeys can be real trolls, for longer than one dying generation."

"Is that an order, Neophyte?"

"It's a request. From a friend." You can't help staring at the slight trickle of teal from behind her glasses.

"I- I suppose I must discover this. Terezi. Stay alive to hear my answer."

She only chuckles quietly.

Karkat puts his hand on your arm. His armor feels light, practically gentle. "Let's go see your patient."

 

 **7468 hours after first Terran-Alternian hostilities**  
You watch Verdante disappear through the window of the _Bloodied Vessel_. You have been uncharacteristically silent for the last night or so. Possibly the quietest you have been, so stunned you could barely breathe, was when Karkat Vantas, unarmed and unarmored, spoke with the seven-ton arboreal Verdanteans, twice as tall as an indigoblood. Stood in front of these alien ~~beasts~~ _people_ that your kind have been hunting and killing on their own planet for generations. And somehow he wasn't torn apart, and they took his offer - a cargo hauler changed by the humans to fit the titanic natives and carry their trees with them. You know their numbers are barely above extinction-level, but when you watched their ship jump out on its own course, you had no worry to spend on their survival.

You are quite concerned about your own.

Karkat joins you at the viewport. His strange smooth armor is gone, replaced by a duty uniform similar to the human clothing - black with white lines, and a swirl of blood colors - blended, not distinct - on the shoulder. Karkat's is marked with silver stars on the collar. It strikes you that the rebels in your cohort have come far further in the world than the loyalists - Eridan and Feferi excepted, although you haven't heard anything of either in several sweeps.

"It's not hopeless, Kanaya. It's not useless or anything. That's why I'm fucking doing it. That's why I'm still fucking _alive_. Because two pink soft hornless nutjobs came to me and gave me something impossible and hopeless and _then they did it _and they kept giving me new impossible things and _kept on doing them___."

"You make them sound like gods. Do you worship them, Karkat?"

"Signless Christ, don't be fucking ridiculous. John never gave me anything but an open hand to help me up. Dave shoved me off the mountain and I had to learn to fly. But they _believed_ , Kanaya. It's stupid, insane, and I _still_ don't know why they did it that first time. They still believe. All of them. In me. In Tavros. In Equius. In Aradia. And in the thousands of others. They think we can be better than the Empire. And if we can be better, I think we can be _smarter_. There's an answer out there. We'll fucking find it."

You both keep looking out that viewport in silence for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***7447 hours after first Terran-Alternian hostilities**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Contented Karkat™ brought to you by a healthy dose of friendship, trust, hemospectrum-blindness, mutant pride, casual sex, and a stable matespritship+kismessitude. A John Egbert/Dave Strider production, starring Nepeta Leijon and Terezi Pyrope.


	3. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Competition for resources between two species occupying similar niches will, in the long term, result in the marginalization of the less successful species, if not its extinction.
> 
> Symbiosis, the process by which two organisms become dependent on one another to survive and  considerably more capable of survival when paired, almost always occurs between two partners of radically variant morphology, ecological niche, and physical capability.
> 
> The idea that two upright-bipedal, intelligent, social, tool-using, war-making species would become engaged in a symbiotic relationship is beyond ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, an update!
> 
> I think I bit off more than I could chew trying to write a Kanaya-perspective story. Which may mean I have to fuck around with my entire next main story, intended to have even more perspectives I haven't written from. Whee!

**May 21, 2414, 0813 hours, Greenwich Mean Time***  
You are still entirely certain that the humans have to be trolling you.

That is, in the figurative sense of the word. Not that- you're babbling again. And you have to remind _yourself_ that, because your moirail is still on the other "side" of this war and busy heavily black-flirting with Commander Egbert via mutual ship destruction. And you really, truly need to keep your wits about you here.

For one thing, the humans are so insane, they _trust you._ You are of course by no means an untrustworthy troll.

But you would not even trust yourself, if you were them and not you obviously, with every amount of biological data, including the caste-aging counter-virus, that they have on your entire species, three nights after you arrived at their highest-classification research facility, and with no more loyalty requirements than a polite "I do hope you won't misuse any of this data," from Dr. Lalonde. The younger Dr. Lalonde, that is, Rose. The elder said something similar, only more slurred and with a slightly disturbing ~~wonk~~ wink.

All in all, you are feeling very out of place. Staring down at a plate of processed starch items with artificial meat-like filling at a lone table in the Derse Laboratories cafeteria only heightens the feeling.

"Kanaya?"

It would seem the universe does not actually intend to render you entirely alienated from your own life. Just very surprised.

"I am still myself, Tavros, but I think I should be the one uncertain of your identity." His hair and horns are very much the same as the last time you saw him. His ability to walk, his steel-grey military uniform with the same blurred prism badge that Karkat wore, and of course his immense, mythical, quite impossible wings, are not.

"That's kind of an understatement even coming from you," he returns, sitting down opposite you with his own tray of human cuisine. You realize that his ability to make it through a sentence without any stuttering, mumbling, or trailing off is also a new development. "How's the tortellini?"

"Is that the name of this foodstuff? It is certainly different from ration cubes."

Tavros smiles gently, but there is a remarkable hint of cynicism in it, which is to say any amount. "Human food's good. Can I… ask you something? I didn't see anything about her being here on the feeds, but I didn't see anything about you, either. Is Vriska… here?" The serrated knife he has gripped tightly in one hand, apparently for tearing apart the lightly-cooked slab of meat on his plate (sensible for humans, lacking in useful teeth, you suppose), is almost a match for an Alternian dagger.

His voice is rather astonishingly cold for the Tavros you remember. You aren't entirely certain whether to be disturbed or pleased for him. You suppose it's somewhat academic in this case. "No, Tavros. As far as I am aware she remains with the Alternian fleet. I am not entirely on either side of the conflict at the moment, however."

He nods with care, understandable with his horns, and is about to speak when another tray slides smoothly onto the table next to his. In a blur you can barely track there is suddenly a human sitting at Tavros's side. His hair is almost as pale as his skin, the variety of both in contrast to their uniform blood remaining a rather disturbing feature of humans. You aren't sure how to describe what he's wearing.

"Reflective-profile body armor," he says in a slow drawl of English, a pronunciation you haven't heard before (and you're quite certain that you didn't say a word out loud, and that there are no human psychics). "One of several things I'm testing out for my favorite group-family cousin," he continues, contorting his arm in a flash of motion to hang around Tavros's shoulders, causing him to display a little bit of the familiar embarrassment that made up most of his personality when you knew him. "And I told you I know where she is, Tavros. I can get her ship's assignments if you want to take your fleet and go joyriding."

Tavros shakes his head, wincing right after he does so, but the human blurs in motion again, easily evading accidental horn-smacking. "No thanks, Dirk. I don't need to… hunt her." You see some continuity with the old Tavros in the occasional pauses in his speech, but at the same time they speak of a wildly different personality - you feel quite certain he is pausing to consider how to use his words to maximum effect, and how to restrain himself. You suppose restraint is frequently necessary with humans (although Tavros, of all people, requiring restraint still seems remarkably odd). But you are quite familiar with the cunning in play here, even if Nitram's budding manipulation feels far more subtle than your moirail's brute-force mental assaults.

"That's why I don't push him too hard to go after her," the human says, again acting as if he can hear your thoughts. You can't see his eyes behind his arrowed black visor, but you feel entirely too warm. Do humans have heat vision? Is that a thing? "Tav doesn't need to be blunt. He's picking up the Strider method."

Tavros coughs and puts his palm to his face. "Kanaya, Dirk Strider. Old friend, new friend."

"Friend with benefits," Dirk corrects, which makes Tavros snort his drink and cough loudly.

"Dirk!"

"Tavros, that's not even remotely private. You said you wanted to get a better idea of human standards. Being willing to admit who's pailing who is a pretty fundamental aspect of our socialization once you're older than seven sweeps, bro." Strider leans back, head flickering under Tavros's horn, and clasps his hands behind his head, elbows resting on the gigantically curved shoulderpads that, along with the rest of the bizarrely sloped, spined armor, would put a Ruffiannihilator Commander to shame. And here you had begun to think the humans actually had better sartorial taste than the Empire, especially after watching some of their entertainment feeds and meeting civilians wearing something other than the (admittedly well-cut) Earthfleet uniforms.

Wait. You missed some important information there.

"What."

"It's… really… not big a deal for them," Tavros says slowly and carefully. Dirk idly flicks a finger against his horns, eliciting a muttered "Quit it!". "Especially when there's… not actually any genetic fluid receptacles to… fill."

"Except for my own entertainment," Dirk adds. Tavros shuts his eyes entirely.

You stare at Dirk Strider for quite a while until you finally decide on "This is a test, isn't it."

The expression behind the visor doesn't change except for a very, very slight curl of the mouth. "Well done. Captain Dirk Strider, Human Transitional Agency." He offers a hand, and you shake cautiously, having discovered through trial and (mostly) error that some humans insist upon shaking hands with a stronger, significantly more clawed species and then become surprised when they are cut. Dirk Strider is not one of these. To begin with, you can't actually cut his skin, even when he grips tightly enough to push your claws into his palm. He releases your hand after a single firm grip, however. His expression doesn't change a hair.

"I haven't heard of that organization."

"We're a formerly criminal semi-open conspiracy that most people believe is a joke."

"I see."

"Cool. You should come to a meeting. Tav, you too."

"Uh… are you sure, Dirk?"

Dirk's visor snaps back into its holsters and his piercing amber irises focus on Tavros. "Dude. You are _not_ getting indecisive on me, are you?"

Tavros meets his challenge, surprising as that seems. "I'm the Summoner Reborn, Dirk. I'm not indecisive." His wings thrum, but luckily there's nobody sitting behind him to get windblasted. "You just never asked me to come to one, before."

"Command wants some different opinions," he shrugs.

"Command?" You were quite certain you'd been briefed (which is to say you'd read Vriska's briefings to summarize them for her, because she wouldn't read them) on every division of the human military.

"The old folks club, really. I got grandsonned in." The flatness of Dirk's voice suggests seriousness, but his words only make sense in the context of some humor you can't quite grasp. It reminds you of your steadily-improving but consistently confusing conversations with Dr. Lalonde (both). Dirk slides a small chit across the table between you and Tavros, an encrypted data file. Your visual hardware broadcasts its name as WhiteRabbit.

"Cliches are a vice. Sometimes I indulge," Dirk says, somehow getting up without hooking his improbable armor onto Tavros's horns. "Catch you kids there." His armor falls off as he walks away, cracking into fragments that peel away and fold into his shirt and tight-cut pants, somehow losing all its volume and weight.

"So… that's my boyfriend," Tavros says in an almost-mumble.

"You have been busy, haven't you?"

"Wait until you meet my girlfriend." He sighs, in a distinctly un-Tavros fashion. What is the right adverb? Oh yes. Happily.

 

**May 23, 2414, 1111 hours, Greenwich Mean Time**

You are forced to agree with Tavros. Dirk was enigmatic, mysterious, and clever. He distinctly lacks the brute force charisma of Tavros's girlfriend, however. And you had thought John might be an aberration among humans.

Well, he still might be. But his sister is the same kind of aberration. Dr. Harley (junior) - Jade - doesn't have much to contribute to the work you and the Doctors Lalonde are doing to map the Alternian genome, her own specialty focused in a significantly more _explosive_ field, but somehow her visits, which drag your work to a halt for socialization, lead you to remarkable insights afterwards.

"Which we badly need," Rose remarks when you admit this, in the private lounge off her laboratory. You have discovered caffeine is astonishingly effective and ~~definitely not addictive BACK AWAY FROM THE BEANS THOSE ARE PERUVIAN~~ for the trollish physiology. "You have a rather angry bunch of nucleotides."

You will admit you are quite perplexed as to how one of your basic genetic chemicals can willfully suicide when it detects observation.

"Still, I have hope. We've made significant progress." Rose taps her fingers on the table idly. "I believe we could begin hybridization testing."

Your mind goes to entirely the wrong place before you forcibly steer it away. You are not going to think about containers of _any_ kind of fluid, just to be safe. "Sorry?"

She raises an eyebrow slightly. "You haven't been paying attention? My brother and Ms. Megido aside, several million members of two surprisingly sexually compatible species have been interacting on friendly terms." She lowers the eyebrow and allows herself a slight smile. "And more than friendly terms. I suspect most of the public interest - which is still rather limited - is from humans feeling our genetic imperative, and trolls drawn in by the novelty of the idea of offspring that are you-but-not-quite, and are delivered in less than a few centuries." Rose sits back and sips her mocha. "I'm quite looking forward to creating a new species, actually. Even if we abandoned taxonomy for the most part in favor of continuum species categorization, perhaps I can slip a pun or reference into the Latin nomenclature that the elder journals will insist on creating. Even without that it should be interesting to be the mother of a new species."

You almost choke. "I hope you don't mean personally."

"Would that be a problem?" she asks. Her voice remains consistent but her pale cheeks are slightly tinged with scarlet.

"I…" You have no idea. You know that human relationships are strange. Beyond strange. Tavros has two in the same quadrant, you can accept that, it's simply… kinky (not a word you thought you would use about Tavros Nitram. Ever.). But the rest of what you've heard, and the impossibility of reproduction… make that the former impossibility. "Is that our… solution? To shift my species into hybrids with human-style or artificial reproduction by the next generation?"

Rose seems to be evaluating you (just as you're evaluating her), as always. "No." She takes another drink. "It's for a minority, as I said. But it gives us options. You, specifically, give us options."

"I do?"

"Jade had a thought yesterday that caused me to do some quick research. Well, after a covert mission undertaken by a friend on Alternia."

"Alternia?" You are uncertain how to deal with this. One could almost say it is snarky horseshit in excess of the amount you or any device could handle.

"It doesn't really matter. The results do. We confirmed something very interesting. Your lusus affects your genetic code."

"It-" You pause, and close your mouth. "Actually, that seems fairly reasonable."

Rose nods. "You're a remarkably varied and adaptive species. Caste system and artificial life span notwithstanding, your blood variation alone indicates that, with a different oxygen carrying molecule for each color - including some overlap at the edges. Fascinating. But back to you."

"My lusus."

"Precisely. I don't expect we can do anything until we fully map the Alternian genome, but the possibility exists for us to make a new mother grub - or design a new system of Alternian reproduction entirely, one different from your former method and from our own."

"Us?"

"I do hope you aren't counting yourself out of this work, Dr. Maryam. I rather think I'd be lost without you."

There are three ways you could interpret that. From Dr. Lalonde's eyes, you think she means all three.

 

**May 27, 2414, 1240 hours, Greenwich Mean Time**

The humans are most definitely trolling you.

Dirk's meeting is taking place on a suborbital cruiser, a thermal glider yacht that plots a neverending erratic course through Earth's atmosphere.

Aside from Captain Strider, yourself, and Tavros, the meeting consists of a Stellar Command Admiral, the Director of Human Coalition Intelligence, both Doctors Lalonde, Dr. Harley (junior), an enormous human male with profound facial keratin filament growth and probably too many armaments for a yacht dinner (apparently Dr. Harley (senior)), a dapper gentleman of indeterminate age in a professional suit, hat, and pristine white lab coat, and, oh yes, a slightly younger exact duplicate of Dirk.

You are uncertain if Tavros is "in on the joke", because he seems to take a certain amount of this for granted while remaining completely nonplussed in other regards.

"I thought this was just your family," he tells Rose, talking across you at the large table on the glider's main deck.

"They are, and yet "just" is not a fair descriptor. The amount of power that the Lalondes, Striders, Crockers, Egberts, Englishes, and Harleys have in our current government is not a coincidence. They - our previous generation-and-a-half, that is - and the conspiracy they created, are largely responsible for its existence." Rose's voice is soft and detached and ~~tingly~~ as ever, although she's traded the biosuit for a striking yet adventurous (in the literal sense, engineered with hidden applications like so many other human technologies) royal purple dress and boots. You politely complimented her on her taste and received polite thanks when you arrived. This has had no emotional effect on you whatsoever. None.

"They engineered a revolution?" you ask, rather surprised. The entire concept of such is still somewhat foreign to you, even after hearing Karkat's speeches and viewing _The Secret Truth of the Sufferer_ , the fairly well-documented propaganda piece about his ancestor and his attempted revolution, and even with the staggeringly massive civil war still raging across your entire species.

"Oh no." She sips from her beverage calmly, a non-intentionally-toxic-for-the-purposes-of-temporary-neural-impairment drink, in distinct contrast to what the elder Dr. Lalonde (her "mother", you remind yourself, and then try to erase the image of the mother grub trying to fit into that skirt from your mind) is constantly imbibing. "They engineered a dozen possible revolutions based on the most likely probabilities." Another sip. "Obviously they only executed the one."

"Obviously," you answer, even though it isn't, because you don't want to ~~look foolish in her eyes~~ look foolish. "Why?"

"Because they lived in, what was for them and the majority of humanity, for all intents and purposes, a paradise or at the very least a potential paradise."

"I see." You need to look foolish. "What?"

"We knew it wouldn't last." The speaker is the younger Dirk, on the other side of Rose, who was never exactly introduced. Unlike his older doppelganger, he wears no visor, but his eyes are filled with complex red patterns in the irises, and occasionally pulse with light from within. "And knowing that change was inevitable, we decided to control it."

"We?" the older Dirk comments flatly.

"You made me before the HTA was anything more than the dream at the bottom of Harley's bong, buddy," the younger Dirk retorts.

"During my short-lived smartass period. _My_ short-lived period, I should note. So much for AI living faster than humans."

"Oh snap, venting core heat to avoid internal damage from these _sick burns_."

You blink rapidly and almost fall backwards when a geyser of steam spills out of the younger Dirk's head and shoulders.

Rose, one hand on your chair, levers you calmly back in place. "AR, abusing your cybernetic privilege to be, and I quote my brother, "the greatest of robo-dicks", does little to disprove your organic self's claims."

"Oh, as if he has any legs to stand on. You know that wasn't an acid gland malfunction that shredded Hass's clothes on the last safari, that shit was intentional. Dirk is a massive perv and I should know, because I'm still him."

"Practical joke, out of hand," the massive hirsute Dr. Harley (senior) comments in a deep bass. "Not as if we don't have a history of such, old fellow. B'sides, didn't so much as touch m' guns, perfectly all right."

"You see why I spend all my time in the goddamn process space instead of with _family_?" The young Dirk - Ey Arr? - says bitterly to you and Tavros. You believe this one to be a rhetorical question ~~and the bright red glow in his eyes is fairly disturbing~~ , so you don't answer.

"At any rate," Rose continues in her regular tone, "it was advantageous for us to be prepared to any threat against artificial intelligences," she nods at "AR", "augments," she tilts her head at Dirk, "the genetically engineered," she lifts a hand to her own collarbone, "and humanity in general." She takes a sip from her beverage. "As it happened, the last one has made the first three very much a nonissue."

"When the military fucking dictatorship we built is controlling everything, yeah," AR says with a pulse of his eyes accenting their rolling motion. "I'm sure things will still be fine afterwards in Phase 2, except for the part where we didn't have a Phase 2."

"Demilitarization of the Coalition while maintaining species unity - beg pardon, dears, no offense to you quite lovely Alternians, we just don't want our own species to fracture along the buried but still blasted dangerous fault lines - is why this Command council still exists, Amaranthine." The StelCom admiral is the most visibly aged of the humans, although that doesn't seem to translate to frailty in any form. You are certainly not a troll to mistake politeness for weakness. And you just knew she was the leader when you saw the entire group. Your inclination towards the dominance of biologically unrelated but distinctly matriarchal authority figures being entirely unrelated.

"Oh fuck, you called him by his pretentious made-up name, now he'll never shut up," Dirk says, pinching his nose below his visor.

"Fuck you too, "Creator", did you seriously think I was going to go by "Auto-Responder" my entire eighteen billion years of life?"

"You named yourself Amaranthine Robot, you are an idiot with bad taste. I can't believe I was ever you."

You aren't certain whether it's the weirdly irresponsible past-tense self-condemnation or the bright red, but this conversation's tone is oddly, comfortingly familiar.

"That's it, we're fucking strifing this shit out. I could have Frankensteined you a long time ago, Fleshy One!" the not-Dirk shoves his chair back from the table with sudden force, flipping it backward and into the glider's railing in an acrobatic pirouette as he stands up. The chair becomes hooked on the railing and wobbles.

Dirk makes a similar motion, although he restrains his chair. "The monster kills himself at the end because it was pointless, dumbass."

You look rapidly between the two in alarm. Tavros seems perplexed. Rose sips her drink calmly.

"Fuck you, it's pod people then."

"Shitty B-grade ancient science fiction? I knew we shouldn't have let you near John, you infected the boy with his shittastic taste."

Amaranthine leaps over the table, and with a roar and flare of heat and light from his boots, shoves himself and Dirk over the edge of the glider. On the other side of the railing, the chair, left hanging long enough, falls off.

Rose sips her drink. "Speaking of Phase Two, how are we on post-hostility preparation?"

"Politically we're stable. Not comfortable, but stable," Admiral Crocker comments with a slight frown. "I have a half-dozen concerns about admirals who aren't entirely fond of returning us entirely to the democratic process."

Director English claps her on the back. "No fear, Janey, a few assassinations aren't too much to ask your old friend."

"Jake. Mother. I hardly think that will be necessary." The dapper gentleman insisted you just call him Mr. Egbert, despite his doctorate. His face is cool, collected, and almost motionless while he speaks. "I'll just pencil in some time for talks with the gentlemen and ladies in question."

Director English shivers. "Zeus's balls, Egbert, I think they might prefer the assassinations."

"Afraid Egbert's right, first, can't have you going around packing the same unchecked power we're preparing to give a bloody good kneecapping," the giant Hass insists. "Have to bring HCI back to its good old street-pounding blues origins."

"Well, if my clone says so, I suppose I should've thought of the bastardly thing myself," English admits, scratching his head.

"Nonsense. Different life experiences and all that fucking rot," Harley responds.

"I like the talking-to," Dr. Harley (junior. Also female. Easier for you to distinguish than the Doctors Lalonde) says with a wide grin. You don't think someone with teeth that flat should look quite so terrifying when smiling (is that hemospectrumist? You're _really_ trying not to be hemospectrumist). "Besides, martyrs are exactly what we totally don't need!" She jumps up, runs over to the edge of the glider, and shouts down in a booming voice that almost deafens you despite being angled quite far away. "And no we're not going to use indoctrinated rapid-growth clones, Robo, Fleshy Ones _can_ fucking tell the difference, dumpass!" She jogs back to her seat before casually adding to the group in general, "Oh, and it's kinda evil too. I don't want any evil in Phase Two."

"Speaking for the newest generation as well, I would also prefer a minimization of universally recognized evils," Rose adds.

"Rsoe. Rose. Honey, are you intnending to drop the eldritchitchitch horrors schlick. Schtock. Bit." Dr. Lalonde (senior) waves her glass around for emphasis, splashing some of her potent drink on her lab coat, which rolls promptly off it and onto the deck. "In Phase Twwwwwooo?"

Rose moves from cool to icy rather quickly. "Useful information remains to be gathered."

There is a general coughing and mumbling at the other side of the table. Dr. Harley (senior) speaks up. "Rose, love, we don't bloody doubt your dedication, dear. We know you're giving right roaring all of your fucks to the cause. We're just a little concerned on the English-Crocker-whatnot side over where you've got the big bloody cannon of your intellect pointed."

Dr. Harley (junior) looks aghast, and shoves Dr. Harley (senior), then reaches past him to punch Director English in the shoulder. "Poppop! Poppops! What the hell! _I_ think Rose knows exactly what she's doing, and so does John!"

"Thank you, Jade. I am most concerned with the long-term right now, esteemed elders." The tilt of her head indicates fairly clearly that Dr. Lalonde (senior) is not included in this group. You presume neither of the vanished Striders are either.

You also presume, now that you have a minute to think about it without being stunned by the conversation, that either humans are considerably more inured to intra-species murder than you'd thought, almost to trollish levels, or that neither Dirk is actually dead or dying.

"Namely, while I have no doubts that Alternians under an elected government - or whatever form Free Alternia ends up taking, which is expressly _not_ the concern of this Command, I want to remind everyone running their own games - will be excellent neighbors and even friends and partners," she says, placing a warm hand on your shoulder ~~and making you glad increased blood flow to the cheeks is much less visible on trolls~~. "There could be others out there who pose the same threat. We were fortunate, really, that our encounter came when it did, or we would be vassals to the same self-destroying fascist machine that claims our Alternian friends' enslaved brethren. If the Human Transitional Agency hadn't existed, if the first emergency beacon hadn't come from John and Dave, the only source that guaranteed our action, if you had planned this particular political machination incorrectly, if I hadn't obtained the basic principles of what John has apparently successfully dubbed Dersetech - what then? We should take every _possible_ means to ensure that humanity is prepared for the next serious post-Phase Two transition."

"It's not like some of us aren't going to be around forever, sis," Amaranthine Robot declares, his voice overriding the thump of his landing on the deck. His clothes are shredded in numerous areas, his skin cut through, but metallic glints and red glows are the only things visible underneath the dermis.

"You can't assume that, even for us immortals," Dirk retorts, skidding to a halt next to him. Jet exhaust whips through boxy fleshy protrusions at his wrists and ankles, and a long metal blade is just withdrawing into his forearm. "And Rose is right, we were exceptionally lucky."

"We can continue to be lucky." Mr. Egbert is striking sparks off two metal pads held in his fingers, lighting a pipe filled with dried vegetable matter. You glance at Tavros, who shrugs in equal bewilderment. "Continue your research by all means, Rose." He draws in deeply from the pipe, exhaling smoke with a peculiar odor. "You may find something of significant personal interest."

You are definitely certain they're not trolling you, and you're more lost than if they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **7540 hours after first Terran-Alternian hostilities**  
>  (Yeah, I finally provided an objective time frame. Shh.)


End file.
